The Little People
by Roony
Summary: The Winchesters hunt a…’smaller’ kind of monster. Dean doesn’t take them seriously…until they steal his most precious item in the world. Written for PL Wynter’s ‘Stupid Monster’ Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Little People

Author: Roony

Rating: K

Genre: Humor

Summary: The Winchesters hunt a…'smaller' kind of monster. Dean doesn't take them seriously…until they steal his most precious item in the world. Written for PL Wynter's 'Stupid Monster' Challenge.

A/N: not much to add, just a reminder for future reference: The ghost hunters in HellHouse? Remember them? Well they're names are Harry and Ed. All will be explained soon enough.

The Little People

Dean stared at his brother for a minute. He must have heard wrong. "Leprechauns."

Sam stared right back at him. He knew how it sounded, but it was true. He'd done the research, checked it, and checked it again to make sure. You definitely want to be sure before you tell your brother that you'rehunting something like this."Yup."

Dean still refused to believe his own ears. "Leprechauns," he repeated.

"That's what I said," Sam replied. Normally he would've been irritated at Dean's skepticism, but it was allowable in this case. He barely believed it himself.

"As in 'Lucky Charms'?"

"Well, according to this, they're not that cute or generous, but yeah," Sam confirmed, gesturing to the laptop.

There was a pause as Dean looked very concernedly at his little brother. "Okay," he said slowly, "And how did you come to this conclusion?"

Sam scowled at him, now annoyed. "I know how it sounds, but it fits. There's been mischief, stuff being stolen, and the townspeople say that they've found footprints the size of a pencil eraser."

"And there's been a huge leap in the number of rainbows with pots of gold at the end in the area?" Dean finished with a smirk.

"There's also a big Irish population," Sam continued, ignoring his brother, "Immigrants might've brought them over."

"Any vandalized Notre Dame posters?" Dean ventured, grinning.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Why wouldn't they like Notre Dame? I'd think they'd be flattered."

Dean shook his head. "No, because Notre Dame sucks. They'd hate to be associated with it."

"They don't suck," Sam defended.

Dean snorted. "Right, like I'm gonna take your word for it," he said dismissively as he rolled his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked indignantly.

"I mean I'm not gonna take the word from a guy who's college in a maple leaf," Dean justified.

"It's not a maple leaf," Sam replied half-heartedly.

"Then what is it?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

"A Christmas tree," Sam admitted.

"Oh, my mistake," Dean amended, going on to mock Stanford' mascot. "'Ooo… the Stanford Christmas trees! Don't wanna mess with _those _guys.'"

"Whatever," Sam said, going back to the laptop.

"So, how do we get rid of them?" Dean asked interestedly.

"Um, I think we just have to make a ring around the town with the right herbs and flowers. Morning Glories would work the best because-"

"They're magically delicious?"

Sam couldn't hold back the grin. "Okay, you're right," he admitted, "It's stupid."

"Worse than stupid," Dean said as he sat down, "It's pointless. Now I say we go back to the original and _way better_ plan of ditching this dinky little town and heading over to Las Vegas. Think of how awesome it would be to play some poker with your Haley Joel stuff. Be like the Rain Man or somethin'."

"Which one of us is Tom Cruise and which one is the autistic Dustin Hoffman?" Sam asked jokingly.

"I think you know," Dean replied seriously, giving him a pointed look.

"I _look_ more like Tom Cruise," Sam replied with a smile.

"Yeah, but Tom Cruise was never an annoying Geekboy like you," Dean shot back.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Right, so, anyway, we have to rid the town of leprechauns," Sam said, changing the subject.

Dean shook his head. "Yeah.The Winchesters:demon exorcists, ghost hunters, monster killers, but most importantly: leprechaun exterminators."

* * *

Sam managed to convince Dean that perhaps the leprechauns were at least worth the time to put some stupid flowers around the town's property limits. Dean of course dragged his feet the whole way to the florists, truly embarrassed by having to buy Morning Glories.

"You could wait in the car," Sam started to say once they'd parked.

But strangely enough, Dean had already hopped out of the car. Sam had to pause a minute and wonder why his older brother, Dean 'Manly-Man' Winchester, was suddenly so excited to go into a flower shoppe after whining about it for the past two miles.

But upon entering, Sam knew all. Dean had undoubtedly caught sight of the attractive young woman behind the counter, whom he was charmingly chatting with at that very moment. But, Sam didn't interrupt. He just shook his head and let Dean talk-which is what he'd do regardless of whether Sam 'let' him do it or not-and looked around for Morning Glories amongst the jungle of potted plants.

"Oh, and that's my brother," Dean said, gesturing over to Sam-whom Dean noticed was shaking his head in that 'I'll just let you flirt with the chick because there's no way in hell I'm going to stop you' way (he was totally correct too). Dean hadn't decided to introduce Sammy just to show that they were brothers (though it was good to let a lady know that good genes ran in the family) but to explain his presence in the shop. "Yeah. Getting some flowers for his beau."

The cute blonde behind the counter started to nod agreeably, her face saying 'Aw, isn't that sweet?', until she caught on to what the proper translation for 'beau'. "Beau?" she repeated, to be sure.

"Yeah. You know, it's really cute. Buying flowers, holding hands. I wish I could just find a girl to be with the way Sammy and Harry are together," Dean said wistfully, trying very hard not to laugh, imagining what Sam's reaction would be if he was actually listening to the conversation instead of looking for the stupid flowers. Sam had dragged him to a flower shop, and therefore Dean owed payback. Of course, if Sam had never dragged him here, he never would have found this cute blonde. But a man needed to keep to his principles.

"Harry…" the girl repeated rather warily, eyeing Sam who seemed fixated on the specific area of flowers.

To save his brother a little embarrassment, Dean quickly changed subjects and went back to the flirting. "So what do you do for fun around here?"

The blonde turned back to him, suddenly enthusiastic. "Oh, all kinds of stuff!"

"Yeah, like what?" Dean asked, only half-interested. According to him, there was really only one universally fun activity.

The blonde grinned and answered with seething excitement: "Making doll clothes!"

Dean blinked, faltering. "What?"

"Yeah!" the girl beamed, "I love it! I sew them little outfits."

Well _this_ was a let down. "Really…" Dean forced a politely interested smile.

The chick nodded and ducked behind the counter for a minute. _Oh no_… Dean thought with dread as he knew what was coming next. Sure enough, the chick popped back up with about five small stuffed animals in simply adorable outfits, undoubtedly made by her.

"This is Mr. Fuzzums," the blonde said, referring to a floppy rabbit dressed in miniature blue overalls. Dean looked around, trying to relocate Sam, hoping for an escape. "And this is Miss Nesbit," she continued, holding up a little cat in a tiny pink gingham dress. "Look at the shoes I made for her! Aren't they cute?"

Left with no other option, Dean went for desperate. "What's that Sam? You need help picking out what kind? Okay, I'm coming!" Dean feigned pathetically, getting away from that counter faster than he had most monsters.

Sam hardly looked up when Dean stood next to him and pretended to be actually looking for the Morning Glories. "What's wrong? She seemed nice," Sam said coolly, hiding a smirk.

"Shut up," Dean growled in a hushed voice.

"You guys should go out," Sam went on casually, his voice hushed too. "Tell you what, to make it more comfortable, it could be a double date between you two, Mr. Fuzzums, and Miss Nesbit."

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Dean snapped, "Can't pick just the right pansies to banish the scary midgets?"

"You paired me up with _Harry_?" Sam asked calmly.

"You dragged me to a flower shop where I met a psycho chick and all her little friends," Dean defended with justification in his voice.

"And I caught you checking out Ed, back at the Hell House," Sam teased.

With no real cool come back to that, Dean simply replied: "Bitch."

"Mr. Fuzzum's stepdad," Sam replied confidently.

Sam, realizing how expensive and time consuming it would be to buy enough Morning Glories to put around the town's property limits,decided to just sprinkle seed around the property line instead. But he insisted that Dean be the one to pay for it.

"No," Dean said flatly.

"I found it, you buy it," Sam insisted, holding out the small package to him.

"No, Sam," Dean said firmly.

"Dean, come on. It's just seed," Sam said, tossing it to him. On instinct, Dean caught the bag, and glared at Sam for tricking him. Sam shrugged. "Just buy the seed, maybe _think_ about being nice to her, and leave."

Dean scowled, but headed to the counter anyway. "If you say so, Dr. Phil," Dean said begrudgingly.

Sam gave him an encouraging, then headed for the door.

Dean went up to the counter to find the blonde pouting. Fortunately, she had put all of her 'friends' away. Dean awkwardly put the seeds on the counter. She snatched them and rang them up.

_Yeah, Sam. This was really one of your more brilliant ideas._

"Um…" Dean tried as he paid. The look on the blonde's face stopped him for a minute, but he tried to keep pretending to be the good guy. "Um, maybe I'll come look at your, uh, stuff later…"

The blonde didn't respond; she only slapped the receipt on the counter and walked away.

"Yeah. That went well," Dean said in sarcastic decisiveness as he left.

"Hey, Dean…" Sam's voice came from the door, sounding weary, urgent, and amused.

"I'm coming," Dean said dismissively, not really wanting to talk to Sam at the moment.

"Dean, those things are here…" Sam said, less amused and more urgent.

"What things?" Dean asked blankly, still trying to shake off the awkward feeling.

"Those _small_ things, the ones we we're gonna _take care of_," Sam said, trying to communicate effectively with subtle code while the blonde was still in ear shot.

Fortunately, Dean got the message. _Oh goodie, _he thought cynically, _A _real _challenge: Leprechauns. _

"Where?" he asked, barely stepping up his pace.

"In your car."

The three words entered Dean's ear and were processed in about five seconds. Dean suddenly broke out into an all-out run, went past Sam, jumped down the steps, and landed in the parking lot just in time to see one of the most horrible, twisted, heart-wrenching sights of his life. The shining, beautiful, black exterior of his original 1967 Chevy Impala with a motor that purred like a kitten and a smooth, clean leather interior, driving off down the road at about 50 miles per hour, being driven by leprechauns.

* * *

So what do you think? Want me to continue with this or keep it a oneshot?

much luv...Roony


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys, just wanted to tell you how stoked I am to see such a response! More on the way, I'm thinking this will be a three or four shot. I'm enjoying writing this and I hope it gives ya giggles.

* * *

Sam knew that his life literally depended on whether or not he dared to let a mere snicker escape his lips. Quite a challenge, but knowing that Dean, in the current state he was in, would probably deck him if even the corners of his mouth turned upwards managed to keep Sam's internal jolly laughter at bay. It wasn't worth it…maybe.

Dean stood there by the side of the road, just dumbstruck by what had happened. His car had been stolen. No, not stolen-kidnapped by little green men. He wasn't sure if he should scream or cry. Laughter was totally out of the question. And Dean silently vowed that if just the corners of Sammy's lips bent upward, he would deck him.

The pause was good, because it let Sam regain enough control to speak without cracking up. Of course, this was a rather important matter. After all, all of their earthly belongings were in the vehicle, including the laptop, Dad's journal, and the weapons. Not to mention, he was sure, a part of Dean's soul.

"Dean, calm down…"

But Dean did not want to be told to calm down. For all he knew, those psycho representatives of the Lollipop Guild could be driving his precious car off of a cliff right now. Hell, they probably couldn't even see over the wheel! Playtime was over. No one took the Impala hostage.

"Where do we find the leprechauns?" Dean asked quietly.

"I don't know," Sam replied honestly.

"Sam…" Dean said warningly. Sam had better fucking know where the fucking leprechauns lived. _He_ was the one who had decided it was such a good deed to go after the pests, _he_ was the one who had decided to get fucking flowers from the psycho doll chick, so therefore _he_ sure as hell should be the one to know where the leprechauns went when they stole the Impala.

"Seriously, I don't know," Sam repeated, taking a slight step away from Dean for good measure. There was really no telling what he'd do now that his baby had been taken. "Look, best thing we can do is stick to the original plan." He nodded to the shopping bag Dean was gripping in his hand.

Dean looked from Sam, to the road, and finally in defeat at the shopping bag.

* * *

They had to walk to the town limits, which was a good two miles away. That had been inconvenient, but the Winchesters were fit enough to hoof it with little trouble. It was the individual planting of each little Morning Glory seed that had nearly driven Dean over the edge. He was angry and frustrated, and all he could take it out on was the soft dirt as he forced another tiny seed into the earth.

"Did you lock the car?" Dean asked suddenly.

"Dean, it's not like locks matter to leprechauns anyway," Sam replied matter-of-factly from his position a few feet away as he pressed another seed into the ground.

Dean didn't care and he noticed Sam's avoidance of an actual answer. "Did you lock the car?" he repeated.

"Yes," Sam replied.

"Really?"

"Yes." He had, hadn't he? They parked the car…Dean leapt out…Sam paused to wonder why Dean had run in so eagerly…

"Are you sure?" Dean pressed.

"No," Sam admitted, wincing in anticipation of his brother's wrath.

Dean just stared at Sam for a minute. Okay, this was officially all Sam's fault. "Okay, after I go Godzilla on those midgets' asses and get my car back, I'm gonna run you over with it," he said decisively.

"You do that," Sam rebuffed stiffly as he struggled to pick up just a single seed from his package.

"I will," Dean said firmly, "I'll…"

Sam looked over at his brother to wonder why he'd suddenly trailed off. Dean was looking around intently at the tree surrounding them. "Dean? What's…?"

But Dean shushed him. "Listen!"

Sam did for about five seconds and heard nothing but the wind in the trees. "What is it?"

"Metallica," Dean stated simply.

Sam stared at Dean for a minute, but Dean didn't seem to notice. He continued to scan the immediate area, his face set. Okay, Dean was hearing Metallica in the middle of the woods.

"Uh huh…" Sam said skeptically, "Dean, I seriously think you might be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Dis-"

"I am not!" Dean snapped, "Just shut up and listen!"

Sam obeyed. At first, nothing, but then…

_Sleep with one eye open…_

_Gripping your pillow tight…_

Sam blinked stupidly. What the fuck?

"_Exit light…Enter ni-ight_…" Dean quietly sang along as he stood up and headed for the woods.

"Dean, wait-where're you going?" Sam asked as he got up and followed anyway.

"Quiet, you'll let them know we're on to them," Dean warned in a hushed voice.

"'Them'?" Sam quoted with a raised eyebrow, it slowly dawning on him what the music meant.

Dean ignored him. "This is war now," he declared to himself, "Take my car, _then_ start playing my music? I am gonna squash every single one of those fucking River Dancing drunken pipsqueaks."

"Maybe they're just hard rock fans," Sam offered with a smirk.

But Dean wasn't paying attention enough to catch Sam's remark. He wasn't moving, was barely breathing, listening for James Hetfield's voice. It was coming from the east, so Dean followed it that way, Sam trailing behind. The sound got louder and louder…but now it sounded like it was coming from more towards the north. So, Dean followed that direction. Again the music got louder, then seemed to fade more towards the south.

Dean's brow furrowed. Wait a minute, how was that even…

All of a sudden, blasting bass guitar surrounded the brothers, blaring loud and clear the escalating guitar and:

_BOOM!_

But there was nothing to be seen as the source of the song, only the trees. No leprechauns or Impala, just the bodiless music.

"It's magic," Sam announced, laughing.

But the music was too loud. "It's what?" Dean asked, cupping his ears, trying to hear Sam over the blaring bass line.

"It's magic!" Sam yelled back.

"What?"

"I said-" The music stopped, but not soon enough for Sam to adjust his volume. "It's MAGIC!"

"Yeah, I got that," Dean said, rubbing his ear,"No need to _yell_."

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn't help from laughing again. "They're using their magic to get the music to play all around us so we can't find them!"

Dean whirled around at him, his face silencing. "Listen to me. This is _not_ fucking funny, got that, Geek boy?"

"Maybe not to you," Sam replied coolly with a shrug, "But from here? It's pretty fucking hi-larious."

Dean scowled at him, and for a moment Sam really did think Dean was going to deck him. But he didn't. He only gritted his teeth as he looked around the woods. His face slowly went from pissed to even more pissed, combined with slightly confused.

"Hey, Sam…" he said uncertainly.

"Yeah?"

"We're not lost, right?" Dean more requested than asked.

Sam looked around. He didn't see the road or the path they'd been on. Just trees. "Um… Maybe…"

"Crap."

* * *

"Okay, I've got an idea," Sam announced from his spot against the birch tree.

"Yeah, and they've been just dandy thus far," Dean retorted grumpily from the stump he'd perched himself on.

"I remember hearing this story around St. Patrick's Day at Pastor Jim's parish," Sam began.

But Dean cut him off. "Oh, yeah, good ol' Pastor Jim. Good ol' Father Jesus Juice. I can't _wait_ to hear this little nugget of wisdom."

"Anyway," Sam went on, "It was about this guy who got a leprechaun's gold. Now, let's suppose the reason the leprechauns here are stealing stuff is because someone stole their gold."

"And now someday someone will follow a rainbow and find my baby at the end of it?" Dean asked both irritably and morosely.

"Maybe. Or maybe you could find it first," Sam pointed out.

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean jeered.

"Look, the guy found the pot of gold by catching the leprechaun and holding his breath until the leprechaun took him to the pot of gold," Sam explained, "So all we have to do is catch one of the leprechauns and follow it…"

"To the treasure, which means my baby!" Dean finished, brightening up considerably now that there was an actual rescue mission involved. "So, how do we catch one?"

"We built a trap," Sam declared.

Dean's face fell. "Uh huh. And how do we do that?"

"Um…" Sam hadn't quite put that much thought into it. There was a pause for contemplation.

"We could use a box," Dean offered, "But oh wait, that's in the car."

"Yeah."

"We could maybe use a bag. But that's in the car too. Darn it," Dean said sarcastically.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. Why was Dean picking on him? "You now, it's not my fault the leprechauns stole your car."

"You didn't lock the doors," Dean pointed out accusingly.

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Sam replied matter-of-factly.

"Well, we'll never know now, will we?"

Suddenly, Sam brightened up a little. "I got it."

"What?"

"We'll use our shoes," Sam stated, as though this was the most ingenious idea ever.

"Will we now?" Dean asked skeptically.

"Yeah," Sam said, "I remember, leprechauns like shoes."

"Another Pastor Jim story? Like the one about the Angel of Death coming after me because I broke into the sacramental wine?" Dean asked suspiciously.

Sam ignored him. "Maybe if we leave our shoes here, we can lure one of them out and catch one."

"No," Dean said stubbornly, "No way. I'm not gonna leave my Nikes out for another one of those deranged midgets to steal like they did my car."

* * *

So, they used Sam's instead.

There it sat, a worn out size 10, waiting patiently for a little green man to take up residence in it. The brothers had decided to wait behind a particularly large pine tree. Sam was leaning on the tree of support because of his missing footwear.

At first, Dean had been at least a little optimistic about the idea, having been given renewed hope towards the safe return of his car. But after about half an hour of waiting for something to happen, nothing did. No sound of dancing, hand-cobbled shoes. No Irish lilt singing 'How Are Things in Glocamora?'. Not even a rainbow.

"Maybe the smell's keeping them away," Dean suggested with a smirk.

"Are you saying my feet stink? 'Cause I'm not the one who hasn't gone in to the laundry mat for the past week," Sam shot back with a pointed look.

Dean was about to reply that he'd spent that time instead talking to a lovely blonde-who _didn't_ have a collection of dolls, but had a very interesting exciting underwear collection. But Sam's sudden snap of the head towards his shoe caught Dean's attention and he followed the gaze, ready to nab the first piece of bright green he saw.

Low and behold, a tiny glow of green light was coming from the heel of the shoe. Dean didn't hesitate. He sprang out from behind the tree and leapt out to the shoe, clamping down on the opening. Sam somewhat awkwardly trailed after, not liking to have to walk on the muddy forest floor in his sock.

"Got it!" Dean declared in triumph.

Sam smiled, somewhat impressed at Dean's skillful capture of the creature. "Okay, now just tell him to take us to the gold. Just gotta hold our breath until we get there."

Dean nodded in agreement, then reached into the shoe to get a hold of the leprechaun. Suddenly, he jerked his hand out with a curse. Sam looked at him curiously. Dean looked somewhat perplexedly at his finger. A tiny little red sore was on it, a miniscule droplet of blood drawn. "Son of an Irish bitch bit me!" Dean said, half pissed half purely amazed.

Sam snickered; he couldn't help it. Big ol' bad Dean Winchester was being bested by a man so small that he could fit comfortably in a shoe. The older Winchester scowled and bravely rammed his hand back into the Nike, determined to grab the green sucker this time.

Soon, after a short struggle, a victorious grin spread over Dean's face, and he produced the leprechaun, holding it up by the scruff of its tiny green jacket. The tiny man was about five inches tall, clothed in rather old-fashioned drab, and glowing green. He also didn't look too happy; he was waving his arms and legs about, his face almost as red as his hair.

"Not so tough now that you're with the big boys, huh, Lucky?" Dean mocked with a smirk.

The leprechaun replied, but not in a way that Sam or Dean could understand. It was in a different language, and in a tone so high-pitched, it was like talking to a helium balloon. Still, the gestures and tone pretty much got the message across.

"I swear he just made a 'yo momma' remark," Dean said to Sam, half-serious. "How're we gonna tell him to take us to the gold if he can't understand us?"

"Just tell him, and I think he'll get the drift," Sam advised, "Why else would we've set a trap for him?"

"Okay, worth a shot," Dean reasoned. He raised the leprechaun at eye level, to make sure the little man knew who was in charge. "All right, Lucky, I'm fucking sick of walking around. I want my car back. Either you take us to it, or I squash you, got it?"

The leprechaun gave Dean the dirtiest look he'd possibly ever received, even worse than the one he'd collectively received from the entire girl's lacrosse team when they'd caught him peaking in the locker room. One lesson Dean had learned that day was to never underestimate whether a chick could beat the shit out of you, especially when they were in groups and carrying lacrosse sticks.

Never the less, the leprechaun gave a curt nod, reminding the brothers with puffed out cheeks the condition for him being their guide. The brothers nodded back as they took deep breaths and held them. Dean released the leprechaun, who started to fly about in the air in a style similar to a fairy, probably to stretch after being stuck in the shoe and Dean's grasp.

All of a sudden, however, the leprechaun kicked into overdrive and zoomed ahead, dodging amongst the trees. Dean mentally cursed as he tried to keep up. He couldn't run and hold his breath, at least not for long.

Sam was slowed down, trying to force his Nike back on his foot. He kept his eyes up, trying to keep track of the green light and Dean. Finally, the shoe was more or less back on his foot, and he was off.

_This is cheating!_ Dean mentally yelled to the green light ahead of him.

As though it had heard his thoughts, the leprechaun stopped and seemed to be waiting for him. Dean slowed to walk and suppressed his body's screams to take a deep breath. He kept his eyes on the little green prize. If the leprechaun tried anymore tricks, Dean would be ready.

Suddenly, the ground that Dean's left foot was supposed to hit was gone. Dean looked down five seconds too late. The green fuck had led him right off of a short cliff!

Dean couldn't help it; he cried out as he struggled to keep from falling, his arms cart-wheeling. But it was no use; he fell all the same. He landed hard, but with little injury other than bruises than would hurt like a bitch in the morning. As he sat back up, he saw the leprechaun floating in the air abut a foot above him, grinning cockily. Dean had lost his chance and breathed.

Dean jumped up and swatted at the leprechaun, but it floating mockingly out of his reach. It even placed each of its hands on its temple in Bullwinkle fashion and waved its tongue out at him. Dean growled fiercely and leapt for it, but was unsuccessful. Finally, bored with the game, the leprechaun tipped its hat and flew off.

Dean stood there, his face hot. Not just because he'd screwed up, but also because Sam's laughter from the top of the short cliff didn't sound like it was going to fade anytime soon.

* * *

Just give the word, and I will SO continue!


	3. Chapter 3

hello again! wow, I am so happy at all the reviews I'm getting! You guys all rock!

choclate rules-LOL! you're right. I'm kind of making Sam seem like a jerk aren't I? I love the car too. Kind of hard to even write about it being kidnapped by leprechauns.

squidgle-yeah, I'm Irish too. Kinda gotta laugh at myself with this.

snchills-rofl! I'm starting to think I shoud've added that scene in!

note to everyone-I'm not meaning to put down the proud people of Ireland. I myself am Irish, wear green every St. Patrick's Day, etc. I am terribly sorry if anyone is offended by any Irish-related dialogue I give.

also-how many people are seriously creeped out by the blonde chick? lol.

quite sure how I'm gonna end this yet. I couldn't stand to actually hurt the Impala… and yet this green devil on my shoulder keeps saying 'do it…' so, who knows?

Hey, I just wanted to give props to Oldach's Dream. Through our conversations and collective sense of humor, most of the conversations in this story have emerged.

* * *

Dean had settled on it. He was going to step on every leprechaun, grind their bones into dust, then burn them, and finally cast their ashes down a sewer. Maybe for poetic justice run them over with the Impala. If he ever got it back, of course.

_If_… Oh, it was so agonizing to have resorted to just a chance that he might get his car back. He didn't care whether Sam cared or not, but the car meant a lot to Dean. Dean, in his line of work, had very little to actually hang on to. He couldn't get close to people, and he only stayed in a place until the monster was dead before moving on to kill the next monster. That car was something that he could say was his, that he could boast about (and use to get a hott chick in bed of course). The thought of loosing it was a painful one.

The brothers had made it out of the woods, mostly thanks to Dean's fall, which happened to be right near the road. They'd followed the road to a local diner, silent for almost the entire way. Dean had been rather red in the face from embarrassment and anger, and Sam had mercifully not made any ribbing comments. Sam actually did have an inkling of the Impala's importance to Dean, and he was apologetic that he'd been joking on his brother while he was in distress. But then again, Dean had sort of had it coming. Sam couldn't help it if Dean's karma included his car being taken hostage by leprechauns.

The comforting diner was a pleasant atmosphere change after the cold, damp woods filled with taunting little green men. Fortunately, Sam had had some cash in his pocket, so the brothers could at least get a warm meal in them before going back to the rescue mission. Dean had resigned himself to sitting in the booth, still sore from the short fall. Sam returned with two burgers and two cups of coffee, and a newspaper.

"I think I've got something useful," Sam said as he set the food down.

"Another plan that involves me falling off a cliff?" Dean asked grumpily, "'Cause that was so much fun last time. I especially loved the five mile hike after words."

"Remember how I thought the leprechauns had had their gold stolen?" Sam asked, ignoring him.

"Remember how I got lead off a cliff by a fucking leprechaun?"

"Check this out," Sam said, pushing the folded newspaper across the table.

Dean looked at the article, and the headline quickly peaked his interest. 'Local Man Comes into Fortune'. According to the article, a man named Charles O'Conner had suddenly cashed over a million dollars in gold. He made a vague claim about the gold being a family fortune that he just happened upon. When asked how he'd come upon it, O'Conner had simply replied: "I suppose it's just the luck of the Irish".

A confident smirk long missed finally crossed Dean's lips again. "This is the guy. It's gotta be."

Sam nodded. "But there's no picture or address. Probably to keep away people from coming out of the woodwork."

"Or the merry leprechauns that live in the woods," Dean agreed. "But they gave his name, so what good does it do?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Dean, remember how I said there were a lot of Irish immigrants in this town?"

Dean thought for a minute. "Uh…not really. I think I was-"

"Making fun of the leprechauns and not listening?" Sam asked knowingly.

"Yeah," Dean admitted with no shame.

"Okay, well they have a phone book here and I looked up Charles O'Conner," Sam said, sort of avoiding the point.

"All right, so?" Dean asked, trying to figure out what the big deal was.

"There are seventy-three of them," Sam stated, waiting cautiously for Dean's reaction.

"So? I'll go to every one of them if it means getting my baby back," Dean replied resolutely.

Sam looked surprised, but wasn't really. He knew that Dean would do just about anything for that car.

* * *

Sam had known that it was a better idea to not split up. He'd known that Dean wasn't going to be especially friendly to the guy who was sort of responsible for his car being stolen. He'd also known that the two of them would need each other to bounce off of in order to convince Charles O'Conner to give up his new gold. But it had been faster for them to each take ten of the Charles O'Conners.

Dean had gone to his first address to find that Mr. O'Conner had died, hearing the choked words by none other than the man's distraught widow. This had led to a rather awkward 'Oh', followed by a quick 'Sorry for your loss' and a quick exit. The next Charles O'Conner lived in a rundown shack with five kids and a particularly mean Doberman that'd chased Dean for about three blocks before giving up when Dean was forced to expertly dodge past a moving bus to separate himself from the dog. Anyway, it looked like this Charles O'Conner hadn't just cashed a million dollars in gold.

On the third candidate, however, Dean was convinced he'd found his man. This Charles O'Conner lived in an apartment. However, a brand new black Jaguar XKR was parked right out in front of the building. The license plate read: LUCKEE.

Charles O'Conner, a young man with short brown hair answered his door to see Dean standing there, trying to look friendly enough to be let in.

"Hey, are you Charles O'Conner?" Dean asked.

"Friends call me Charlie," the young man replied out of habit, despite the fact that he was confused as to why this guy had knocked on his door.

"That car out there yours? The Jag?" Dean asked, using the subject of cars to get Charlie to talk with him.

"Uh, yeah," Charlie replied confusedly.

"Real nice piece of work. Kind of a car guy myself," Dean said.

Charlie nodded. "Um, yeah, I guess I am too…"

"I've got this real nice 1967 Impala. Had it for five years now, but she still purrs like she's brand new. "

Charlie raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Really? An original '67 Impala? That's a real good car."

"You've got no idea," Dean replied, half-serious.

"Uhm, is that why you knocked on my door? Or are you selling something?" Charlie asked suspiciously.

"Oh, sorry. Name's Dean Smith," the other replied as he sort of pushed his way through the door.

"Okay… Can I help you, Dean Smith?" Charlie asked, a little dumbfounded that this weird guy had just walked right into his house with no explanation.

Dean turned to Charles O'Conner, hands in his pockets. Good, he'd gotten in. Now it was time to get down to business. "Well, I'll get to the point. Bottom line, Chuck, is that we know how you really got that car."

Charlie furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you-"

"So just give us the gold back," Dean went on, "And we won't have any trouble."

Charlie blinked. "Gold?"

"The gold you stole. From the leprechauns." Dean wasn't going to let this guy play coy.

"The gold I stole from the leprechauns…" Charlie repeated slowly.

"Yeah," Dean affirmed matter-of-factly.

"Uh huh…" Charlie said, slowly backing up toward his phone. "Well, I'm gonna call the cops…"

He started to pick up the phone, but Dean strode over and pressed his fingers down and disconnected the phone from the cradle. "Uh, no, you're not. You're giving us the gold back."

"What gold?" Charlie asked blankly as he backed away from Dean.

"_The_ gold. The gold you took from the leprechauns," Dean insisted, getting tired of the game. "Come on, how many times am I gonna have to explain this?"

"Look, I won the car in a radio contest, all right?" Charlie explained, rather nervous.

"What radio gives away a hundred thousand dollar car?" Dean questioned skeptically.

"Buddy, I think you need-"

"No," Dean said, cutting him off, "What I _need_ is to get in my car and drive away from this shithole town, wishing a potato famine on all the fucking green things in the woods. The only way I can do that is by you giving up the fucking gold."

Charlie opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Dean's cell phone ringing. Dean looked over at Charlie for a minute before answering the cell.

"Dean," San's voice came over.

"Kind of awkward moment to interrupt, Sam," Dean said irritably.

"I've got the right Charles O'Conner," Sam said rather excitedly, "Charles James O'Conner. He just bought this huge house. I'm there right now. You wanna come meet me before I go in?"

It was one of those moments where your mind goes blank as to how to react to new information. "Really…" Dean said looking worriedly over at Charlie, who looked like he was seriously considering jumping out a window to escape from Dean, who had undoubtedly appeared as a nutjob. "Well, that's just great," Dean said tersely as he squeezed the bridge of his nose.

There was a pause on the other end as Sam picked up the tone in Dean's voice. He'd known it was a bad idea to split up. This was confirmed by a scared voice in the background asking, "Hey, uh, are you going to, um, leave soon? Like, without hurting me? 'Cause that'd be just super."

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an incredibly similar way to the way Dean was. "You've already asked someone to hand over the stolen leprechaun gold, haven't you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yup," Dean admitted miserably.

"You didn't make any death threats, did you?" Sam asked, dreading the answer.

"Not explicitly," Dean replied.

"Okay…well, uh… How about you come meet me at the _right_ address and try to leave without getting arrested on the way over?"

"Yeah. I'll do that," Dean said as he hung up. He turned back to the terrified Charlie. "Uhm…" He forced a grin. "Sorry, uh, Joe hired me for a prank," he explained, hoping to God he sounded truthful and not like a lunatic.

"I don't know a Joe," Charlie replied with a wrinkled brow.

"Well, uhm… He knows you," Dean said quickly as he left.

* * *

Sam was waiting patiently outside the O'Conner estate, leaning casually against the brick wall surrounding the enclosure, when Dean walked up.

"Don't say anything," Dean growled, "Not a word."

"About what Dean?" Sam asked, feigning innocence.

"I mean it," Dean said pointing at him sternly as he approached the speaker box by the wrought-iron gate, "Just shut up. It never happened."

"What," Sam said, "You mean you never almost got sent to the looney bin because you just walked up to a guy and demanded he hand over leprechaun gold?"

Dean replied by not-so-lightly punching Sam in the shoulder. He moved to press the call button on the speaker box, but Sam stopped him. "Why not let me take this one, Dean? Your people skills have been through enough today, don't you think?"

Dean scowled, but moved aside to let Sam try his luck. After Sam pressed the button, there was a short pause before a crackling response came back: "Hello, how may I help you?" The voice was elderly, and had an Irish accent.

"Yes, we're reporters from the Times, and we were wondering if we could interview Mr. O'Conner about how he came into his recent wealth," Sam said courteously, shooting Dean a look as if to say '_That_ is how you get people to cooperate'.

But they were both very taken aback when the voice came back rather shrilly, "The Times? Bullocks to you Protestant bastards, twistin' the media with yer lies bout Ire!" Then the speaker snapped off and there was a pause of shocked silence, with the Winchesters staring dumbly at each other.

"What the hell was that all about?" Sam asked incredulously, staring at the speaker box like he expected it to bite him.

Finally, a triumphant smirk spread over Dean's face. "Not so easy, is it, Sammy?" Sam scowled as Dean leaned forward to press the button. "Allow me, little brother."

"Fine, go ahead," Sam said, stepping back. He refused to believe that Dean could have more success than himself.

"Sir, there's been a misunderstanding," Dean said politely, "We're from the _Irish_ Times." And with that, he clicked off and waited. He turned to Sam. "There. Problem solved."

Sam shook his head. "The _Irish _Times?" he quoted, "Dean, there's no way that'll actually work-"

But he'd spoken too soon, because right on cue, the gates creaked open.

* * *

more to come! luv my reviewers! 


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